Albert and I ignored her, but she reminded me of my mother, whose racism loomed like an enemy ship in one of Lord Nelson’s battles which suddenly seemed to glare at me. My mother. I shuddered.
I yelled at her, “Chagacious chagrin!”
Albert looked at me as if he’d just seen me for the first time.
“You’re a riot! Chagacious? What a word!”
“I always yell chagacious chagrin at… certain people.”
Albert laughed. “Chagacious chagrin? Why not? Have some more champagne.”
“I just adore you.”
He took my hand and kissed it. A familiar tingle coursed through my body. We held hands the rest of the way home.
When we arrived at the brick pathway that led to our studio apartments, I looked up at him. He was taller than me by several inches. He smiled. Maria Dolores saw us.
“Albert! I need to clean your studio!”
“Not today, Maria Dolores,” he said. He looked back into my eyes, sparking with joy. “Would you like some more of the bubbly?”
I grabbed him by both hands and started to whirl him around. “Yes, yes, yes!” He laughed with delight and swung me under his arm. We ran to the staircase and up into his studio. Champagne, ardor, screenplays, and Albert’s savoir faire, his lovely courtesy and all that goes into a great love affair awaited like a lush, green lawn in spring. I wanted to roll in the grass.
I leafed through Venus’s Delight. “Is Cary Grant Venus’, um, Alexia Roma’s true love in the end?”
Albert walked over with two glasses of Korbel Champagne, which I’d heard was expensive and dry. “Yes and no,” he said.
“So she has two boyfriends?”
“Lovers.” Albert grinned at my naivety. “In Italy, only teenagers have boyfriends.”
“Yes, of course. So does she have two of them?”
“She has Cary Grant and Melina Mecouri.”
“A woman?” I slurped my champagne like a soft drink. Clearly, I was out of my depth.
“Don’t you think we need to challenge our puritanical… heritage?”
“Yes! I’d love to take on Cotton Mather and Jonathan Edwards; the whole lot of them!”
Albert grinned at my enthusiasm.
Just then, I heard Kathy, Albert’s next-door neighbor, start to play the violin.
“Let’s invite her too!” I said.
“Tell her to bring her violin… and her boyfriend.” Albert scoffed at his error. “Lover.”
“All of the above! She’s so intelligent, not to mention voluptuous, Freddie and Charles will go nuts!”
“I’d love to have Kathy. She plays in the Berkeley Symphony,” said Albert. “She’s a French major. She’s going to France when she graduates.”
“I didn’t know Berkeley had a symphony. Let’s go sometime.” I kissed him.
Albert took a gulp from his champagne glass and kissed me back. I finished my glass and entwined my arms around his neck. “How am I compared to…?”
Albert stood straight up. I guessed I’d hit a raw nerve, one of my specialties. Albert poured more champagne and cleared his throat. “You can’t compare… unless it’s to a summer’s day.” Albert grinned. He was quoting the Bard.
“Why can’t I?” I smiled into his eyes.
He blinked for the first time. “You’re so much better than… than a man. I love your vagina!”
“Glad to hear it!”
Albert was so mature. With him I experienced a warmth and depth of caring I’d never had with a man before. Even my own father, who often seemed terrified of me.
I looked deep into his eyes. I had to know. “What happened… I mean… um…”
“Why did I sleep with men?” Albert grimaced. “It’s not a pretty story.”
“Oh. Well, you can tell me.”
“I felt lonely and isolated when I first arrived at Berkeley from Harlem. I was the only black student on the whole campus.”
I nodded my head. I wanted to know.
“In this small quadrangle of studio apartments, Jerry offered to help me arrange my apartment when I moved in. I was grateful. I didn’t realize…”
“You mean Jerry took advantage of YOU, too?” I opened my eyes in shock.
“He takes advantage of everyone. I was still young and naïve, lonely… I played along just for the company.”
I looked at him, then at the ceiling. I felt sick.
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I let it happen.”
“So he’s doing it with men and women!”
The ceiling started to rotate. I felt dizzy, crazy, like crying and screaming.
“He’s what you call a sociopath. He just lies and hurts people all the time. He’s a monster. After I started getting good grades and had a long talk with my father, I broke it off. He was furious.”
“That’s why he treats you the way he does!”
“Yes, I just ignore him.”
“You should report him.”
“I have to ignore a lot of things because… of my skin color. I try to forgive people.”
I stared at Albert as if seeing him for the first time. Forgiveness.
This was a new way of looking at things. I thought of my mother and our fights.
“Albert… I have trouble with forgiving… my mother.”
Albert’s dark eyes narrowed, boring into my soul. “What has she done that you can’t forgive?”
I looked at the ornate pattern on his sofa, glanced out the window, and tried to figure out where to start. “It’s hard to explain. I guess we just don’t get along very well.”
“Do you love her?”
My eyes teared up. “She insults me. She… she doesn’t seem to care about me except as someone to marry off. I feel like she doesn’t love me. I loved my grandmother.” My eyes misted over.
“You still have to love your mother. You have to forgive her.” Albert stared directly into my teary eyes.
“How?”
He put his strong arm around my shoulders. “Just love her. We have to love our parents, no matter how bad they may seem or be, so we can grow up. We have to forgive them for being less than perfect.”
I stared back at him in shock. What he said made sense. It made perfect sense. I had to release myself from my anger at my mother. No matter what.
“How can I do this?” I looked at him as if he were a deity of some sort.
Albert chuckled, “That’s for you to figure out, Inny. You will. It just takes time.”
I laughed, “Like an eternity?”
He ran his hand under the back of my blouse. I opened the top buttons on his Brooks Brothers shirt, felt his hard chest muscles, and inhaled sharply. He looked deep into my eyes as if asking permission. I nodded. He undid my bra and slid his hand gently over my breasts. Off came the clothes. Down we went, ending up on his sofa, squirming and slithering like a couple of lovesick Anacondas. Laughing, managing to drink more champagne, and then again, and again. My breath came in spurts, as well as laughter. Albert never let up.
“Freddie and Chuck…” I gasped.
“Let them eat cake, darlin’,” said Albert. “Now you’ve got a real man.” He grinned his infectious grin. I inhaled sharply.
We slid off the sofa, landing on a carpet on the floor, laughing and holding each other. We couldn’t stop. There was a noise at the door.
“What’s that noise?” I asked.
“I hope it’s not Maria Dolores,” said Albert, feigning fright.
We started laughing again. Oh, too much champagne, and yes, too much love making, and… what was that knocking?
Albert staggered to the closet and took out a robe; he made it to the door and opened it a crack.
“Adrianne Koch!” He threw open the door. “Welcome to the party!”
I slithered under the carpet, trying to estimate the distance between my clothes and the doorway. They came flying through the air. Albert tossed them to me. He stood in the doorway while I madly tried to put my skirt and blouse
, not to mention bra and panties, back on. I heard Adrianne laugh. She was my history professor. The room started to spin just as Albert refilled my champagne glass and offered her some.
No one seemed to have noticed that I was still buttoning my magenta dress.
“Oh, Albert, how splendid of you,” she said, taking the glass. “What a lovely robe you have on. Is it from Morocco?”
“It’s a kaftan,” said Albert, “that I bought in Morocco on my way home from the Cannes Film Festival last year.” He took a sip of champagne and motioned her to a seat, whereupon my presence became obvious. “This is Inny. She’s helping me with the screenplay I’m working on for Alessandro Rossi and Alexia Roma.”
“I’m so glad you asked a woman to help you; we have a slightly different point of view, you know.” She gave me a knowing look. I turned bright red as I dressed under the rug. Too much champagne. Nonetheless, I forged ahead because she’d brought the old Puritans to life for me in her lectures. She was my American history teacher, who always arrived wearing a magenta-colored taffeta coat, her arms covered with silver and turquoise Mexican jewelry. She was flamboyant and known for having the largest vocabulary of any of the professors on campus.
“I keep wondering why they burned women at the stake in Salam, drowned them, all that religious nonsense. What do you think their real reasons might have been?” I looked at Adrianne, knowing she’d help me understand.
Adrianne’s middle-aged, wrinkled, wizened face broke into a smile. “Powerful women have often been persecuted. Joan of Arc was burned at the stake for kicking the British out of France.”
I looked into her deep blue eyes. We connected. “They called her crazy, just like Zelda Fitzgerald, or eccentric like Emily Dickenson… what about Cleopatra?”
Albert’s eyes lit up at the mention of an Egyptian.
“Men have to maintain their dominance,” said Adrianne, glancing in Albert’s direction.
“They wouldn’t have burned a man at the stake who saved France for hearing messages from god. Half of those kings were drunk with power and a bit nutty, weren’t they?” I said.
Albert interrupted. “George Orwell said that some of us are more equal than others. So that may include…”
“That’s why the civil rights law that Kennedy talked about in June is crucial to justice,” said Adrianne. “I think we’re on the right path, at last. He’ll sign it if Congress will present it to him.”
“I think Kennedy’s call for justice, not to mention Martin Luther King’s marches, had something to do with my being added to the Berkeley faculty,” said Albert.
Adrianne and I stared at Albert in rapt admiration. He was a living symbol of racial progress.
“Real progress will be made when they hire your sister,” I said.
Albert broke out laughing. “I can’t wait for you to meet her. Would you like some champagne? Adrianne? We’re having a teeny bit of a pre-party…”
Adrianne stood up. “I have so much work to do, but this has been a lovely respite. It’s always a rare delight to meet one of my students, especially such an inquisitive one.” Her voice was deep and throaty, like one might expect from an English noblewoman. Perhaps I was just thinking of Dame Mae Whitty, my favorite British actress, who also was stout and sure of herself like Adrianne.
I stood up; I thanked her for the compliment.
“Try to finish up in time for my little soiree this evening,” said Albert.
Adrianne smiled graciously, bussed him on the cheek like the French do, and said it would be impossible. I briefly wondered how close they were.
“Women have to be smart and…” Suddenly, my stomach gave a heave in the wrong direction. “Ummph,” I said. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. That was not the impression I wanted to make on my history professor. Too much alcohol.
I heard her chat with Albert and then leave. I splashed water on my face. I came out to find Albert with a worried look. “I have a weak stomach,” I said.
He grinned at me. “We’ll have to stop at one bottle next time.”
“You mean at the party tonight?”
“Oh, I always lose count at my parties.”
I kissed him and ran down the staircase to my studio where I threw myself on my bed and fell into a deep sleep.
I didn’t wake up until the party was in full sway. The sound of footsteps running up and down Albert’s staircase finally woke me out of my stupor. I could hear his high, shrill voice and laughter coming from his studio. I had to get up. And I had a paper due on Monday. Oh, drat, I thought. I’ll write it on Sunday. And what about my resolve to double down on my studies? I’m learning more from Albert than any teacher ever taught me.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I darted up the stairs to Albert’s studio, which was lit up like a Christmas tree and just as enticing. Charging in full tilt, I saw Fast Freddie with a new date, Chuck with one of my old friends, and Albert with his arm around Kathy, the voluptuous blonde violinist who lived above me and across from him. The familiar feeling of a shaft running through my body kept me from lunging at them. Instead, I turned my back and introduced myself to someone named Jay Jay, another tall blond fellow whose smile lit up the already brightly lit room. The background music got faster; pretty soon, we were doing the twist or something resembling it. He told me he was a member of the Zeta fraternity house, the one reserved for ultra-rich boys, but lived in a closet he’d rented because he was a Communist. I began to smile just like him. To hell with monogamy, I’d try them all.
Jay Jay asked me to dance; with my wild wiggle and Jay Jay’s blond good looks, we attracted attention, something I was practically immune to. I loved dancing; I didn’t care if anyone was watching me. People started clapping in time to the music and other couples joined in.
Then, Albert and Kathy stepped onto the floor. He gave her a spin under his arm.
Kathy’s hourglass figure and wild jitterbug with Albert expertly partnering her made people practically drop their champagne glasses. Even Marilyn Monroe might look frumpy next to her. She was a natural blonde bombshell. Fast Freddie cut in. Albert smiled and let them dance. Although Freddie wanted to dance close, Kathy pushed him back a bit with her left arm. “Ah, come on,” said Freddie. I smiled; I knew Freddie too well.
Jay Jay and I danced till the Cole Porter album was over. “Even educated fleas do it… let’s fall in love.” Albert had terrific taste in music, especially old tunes. Jay Jay gave me a last spin, and then we stopped. He kept his arm around my waist, which felt warm and, yes, I had to admit that he was sexy.
“I’ve got a special cave,” he said.
“Really?”
“I could take you there sometime.” His smile swallowed my heart and my common sense.
At first, I didn’t notice Albert standing behind me. I thought he might chide me for some reason. Instead, he yelled, “Conga line!” The music changed to a conga; everyone followed suit, soon we had a line of people dancing the conga, trying to stick their legs out in time to the music. I turned my head to look for Albert; he grinned at me from under his lavender wig. I started to laugh but had to keep dancing. Soon, we’d gone down his stairs and up the brick pathway to the street. We didn’t stop dancing. Fast Freddie had Kathy by the waist and yelled, “Conga!”
I forgot about everything, except the pulsating moment.
Everyone yelled conga in unison. Cars had to stop. People leaned out of their windows. Some of them joined in. We kept going. We were a centipede of protruding legs yelling, “Conga!” I saw Sather Gate loom ahead of us. “Conga, conga!” I gasped for air. Albert was holding onto me for all he was worth. “Conga forever,” yelled Albert.
Jay Jay had vanished, like so much blond smoke. There must have been almost a hundred people writhing in the conga line when the police arrived.
Passersby kept joining in; everyone wanted to be part of the fun.
Albert’s hands dropped from my waist. He put them in the air.
�
�Albert, you don’t have to do that.”
I saw tension come into his face. “It’s just a reaction.” He tried to laugh, but the police were already out of their cars approaching us. The others scattered. Only Kathy, Jay Jay, and I stayed. And Albert.
“I can explain everything, Officer,” said Albert as a police officer began to frisk him. His lavender wig hung at an angle over his face.
“You can explain everything at headquarters.” The officer glared at him. “What is that on your head?”
“It’s a wig,” I said. “Albert wears it to make people laugh.”
The officers started frisking all of us. I felt their hands run over my body. “How dare you!” I shouted, nearly knocking one of them off balance.
“I’d be quiet if I were you, miss,” he said. He frowned at me. “What are you doing participating in this… this orgy? Let me see your driver’s license. You look underage.”
“I’m twenty-one,” I asserted, looking him squarely in the eye.
“I’m a member of the Berkeley faculty,” squawked Albert, his voice high and nervous.
“Straight out of Finocchio’s,” said a police officer.
“I’m not cross dressing,” squealed Albert. His face contorted at the mere idea. I wondered what cross dressing was. I’d never been to Finocchio’s, though I’d heard about it as San Francisco’s most colorful bar.
“Disturbing the peace,” said another officer. “Take him in.”
“What about us?”
“Go home and mind your manners!” was the curt reply.
“But Albert hasn’t done anything,” I pleaded. I looked at the officer with a plea for reason in my eyes.
He laughed. “Disrupting traffic and leading a… a group of unruly protesters down Telegraph Avenue…”
“We were having a party!” I insisted.
“Call Adrianne,” hissed Albert with a note of desperation in his voice.
“Okay, buster, into the patrol car,” said the burly policeman as they cuffed Albert. His wig fell off. I darted over and picked it up.
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